King Heavy Metal

In its second release in one year, Ricked Wicky—the latest undertaking from ex-GBV frontman Robert Pollard—is starting to feel like a proper band. While King Heavy Metal isn't quite as front-to-back consistent as I Sell the Circus, its aims are higher: a surefire sign of a band getting comfortable with themselves.

It didn't take long, but Ricked Wicky—the latest undertaking from ex-GBV frontman Robert Pollard—is starting to feel like a proper band. Ricked Wicky, if you'll recall, is the so-called "sophisticated arena rock band" featuring Pollard, constant companion Todd Tobias, former GBV drummer Kevin March, and Dayton lifer (and relative newbie to the Pollard universe) Nick Mitchell; their latest, King Heavy Metal, follows their debut I Sell the Circus by a scant five months. The second LP from any post-GBV Pollard enterprise always feels a little like a dare: as the project starts to define its own borders, there's always the sense that the famously restless Pollard could abandon this one just as blithely as he has so many others. Still, Ricked Wicky feels different. Mitchell, for one, has clearly ingratiated himself to his new boss; after a few scene-stealing cameos on I Sell the Circus, he gets a strong supporting role throughout King Heavy Metal. And Pollard—content, presumably, with the way this latest venture is shaping up—turns in a weird, wide-ranging set.

Chiming opener "Jargon of Clones" could just be the out-and-out loveliest Pollard track of the decade, a swaying self-examination that finds our Uncle Bob deep in dialogue with himself. "This Has Been My Picture" is similarly lovely; after a lengthy buildup, its triumphal, harpsichord-ticked chorus makes for a well-earned payoff. And the svelte, surefooted "I'll Let You In" is a top-flight Pollardian rocker, a hard-charging, brain-sticking wonder in the grand tradition of "Motor Away".

Of late, the best Pollard records split the difference between spontaneity and craftsmanship; too much (or little) of either, and the whole thing starts to feel overworked, undercooked, or some combination thereof. The songs Pollard brings to Heavy Metal are smart—and occasionally downright elegant—without resorting to all the look-at-me bells and whistles that bogged down 2013's scatterbrained Blazing Gentlemen. Not that they're all winners; the dirgey "Walk Through Glass" takes a beat too long to get where it's going, and "Earth Among Men" lays a thick layer of Psychocandy fuzz atop one of the set's more threadbare melodies, in the hopes that no one notices.

And then there's "Come Into My Wig Shop", a surefire top-five contender for weirdest Pollard song. Slinky spy-movie keyboards? Check. A bizarro-world version of the "Thunderstruck" intro? Sure, why not. "Wig Shop" is more science project than song, its goofball verses grafted awkwardly into a sundazed chorus. It shouldn't work, and it doesn't; still, after so many years of Pollard padding out albums with gormless ballads, blandiose rockers, and barely-there sketches, the sheer chutzpah of "Wig Shop" is almost enough to redeem it. "Wig Shop" is a lot of—probably too many—things, but boring isn't one of them.

"Wig Shop" is a Pollard-Mitchell co-write, one of Mitchell's three writing credits on King Heavy Metal. His "Weekend Warriors" is either the Who song they never got around to writing or the shameless pint-hoister the art-damaged Pollard won't quite allow himself to pen. Either way, it's a hoot, a would-be anthem for every heavy-lidded 9-to-5er staring down another early Monday alarm call. To its credit, "Warriors" cuts to the quick and guzzles straight from the bottle; to its detriment, Mitchell's other contribution, "Imminent Fall From Grace", does much the same. The metaphor-eschewing "Grace" finds Mitchell doling out a stern warning to a high-flying character who's due for a fall. If Mitchell's "Warriors" is a better-than-average Roger Daltrey bite, "Grace" is sub-Eddie Money bar-rock. Ill-fitting and uninspired, it's the record's sore thumb, an unusually earnest, uncomfortably literal song floating in a sea of Pollardian abstractions.

Just two records in, it's only natural that Mitchell and Pollard are still feeling each other out; given how capably Mitchell's slotted himself in with Pollard—whose many idiosyncrasies long ago calcified into his distinctive style—elsewhere, this misfire seems easy to chalk up to growing pains. While King Heavy Metal isn't quite as front-to-back consistent as I Sell the Circus, its aims are higher: a surefire sign of a band getting comfortable with themselves.